#419: Race Report - 2013 Inaugural Railrunner 10 Miler

Yesterday was my first race of the spring season, a 10 miler on the beautiful grounds of the RJ Corman compound in Nicholasville KY. Mr Corman is a railroad mogul and philanthropist;  a cancer fighter and a runner who generously makes his property available for races like this one. I arrived at 7:00 AM, two hours before the start, for reasons I just cannot explain. It was 36° and the sun was just teasing its way up over the hills when I pulled into the parking lot. I spent a few minutes wondering if I had packed enough layers in my race bag, then decided to take a hike down to the start/finish line for a little re-con. It was much colder than I expected. The forecast was for temps in the 50's, and those would arrive, but not until well after lunch. For now, the air was biting. I shoved my hands a little deeper into the pockets of my gray Y Staff fleece, hoping I had packed a jar of Carmex to protect my lips.

After checking out the site, I headed back for the car, passing a few friends on the way. We were all bundled and shivering; smiling at one another with the demented joy that only runners can understand or consider sane. At the car, I switched some clothes around, adding a long sleeved wind resistant layer to go under my gold Y singlet. I swapped the loosely knit black and yellow cap that had been a gift from one of my LIVESTRONG at the YMCA participants for the thick red toque that Coach Melissa had given me. I had tights on under my black shorts, but decided to leave the warm-up pants on until starting time. I still had an hour before the start, and my choices were to stand around freezing, sit in the car getting tight, or go for a jog before a 10 mile race. Jogging seemed like the least offensive option, so I trotted off toward the start again, figuring I'd check out the first quarter mile or so. It was definitely warmer once I got moving.

Dave Storing Up Heat for the Winter

I had just turned around and started back when I saw my friend Dave coming down the course. Dave and I are among the tribal elders in our running community --  you know, the ones who are so "inspiring" for running "at that age." I hung a U-turn and eased in beside him. Turns out, he was determined to get five miles in before the race. Fortunately for me, he already had three under his belt. We moved along at a much faster pace than I wanted to do, but the conversation and laughter lightened my stride and before I knew it, we had done 2.25 miles together, and gotten a really good preview of the start and finish of the course. This included a trip over the craziest steel bridge I've ever run across. When there are more than five people running on it, the thing flexes like a springboard. If Dave hadn't have warned me about it, I might have broken both ankles when I hit it during the race.

After a heart-stopping wait in line for a pre-race port-a-potty stop (I could have slipped off into the cedars, but I was wearing all those Y logos...) I joined a few friends at the start line in time for the Star Spangled Banner and the gun which was a blast from a train whistle.

The race itself was really lovely. There are plenty of gentle hills and lots of  hollows still full of last weekend's snow. There are a couple of unique features. A busy railroad line runs around the boundary of the property, and the engineers tooted their whistles joyfully as they passed the long line of brightly dressed runners in the morning air. I've already mentioned the bouncing bridge. There is also a tunnel that leads to the most distinctive part of the course. Part of Mr Corman's business is to respond to railroad accidents all over the country, and that means being ready to zoom off at a moment's notice. That's why he has his own jets and his own airstrip. The race included a two mile loop from one end of the runway to the other. The course then looped back through the tunnel, and around the grounds to a long downhill finish. Lots of support. Lots of music. Lots of (unnecessary) ice to keep the water bottles cool and refreshing. And the best part, lots of friends cheering one another on. A great way to get racing season moving.

Some of the Toughest People I Know...
And the Best Job in the World

Before I left the house yesterday, I decided that I would dedicate my run to my friends who are living with relapse. As I spend more time with cancer fighters, I meet more people who have had two or three different diagnoses in their lives. I wanted to honor them with my run. Strangely enough, I didn't give them much thought until the last, lung-burning, leg-aching half mile sprint to the finish line. That's when their names and faces started to appear in front of me. Becky. Jaspal. John. DeeDee. Art. James. There was no way any of them were going to be running any 10 mile races this day, so I would run it for them. I spoke their names quietly as I breathed smooth and deep, just like Carrie had coached me. I ran that last quarter mile in just over two minutes. I wish I could have carried them all on my back; instead I carried them in my heart.

Today (Sunday), I had a nice, easy recovery run. 5 slow miles on my beloved Legacy Trail. 62°. No timing. No pacing. No gasping for air or pushing to the top of the hill. Just a simple run for the love of running on what felt for all the world like the first day of spring. And then I came home to find that Living Strong at the Y 2013 had just raised our first $500.

My God... what a great weekend for a run! Or two. Or three...

Peace,
Pennsy

                  

#418 Living Strong at the Y 2013

March 8, 2013

Last year, thanks to the love and support of family, friends, and neighbors from all over the country, you and I came together to raise $3685 to support LIVESTRONG at the YMCA: a 12-week program that helps cancer survivors to become cancer victors through exercise, nutritional education, and fellowship with one another. The program includes a three-month family membership to the Y at no charge to the participants. To put it in practical terms: our contributions payed for 10 participants and their families to experience the same program that helped me make the journey from cancer patient to finisher at the 2012 Pittsburgh Marathon last May.

I’m asking for your help again, and this time we have a much bigger plan in mind.

Instead of targeting just one event, we’re assembling a team of cancer survivors who will be running all spring long, starting tomorrow at the Railrunner 10 Miler in Nicholasville KY, and finishing in May at the Flying Pig Marathon in Cincinnati. We are runners who have all known what it means to hear the words, “You have cancer,” and chosen to fight for our lives. I am proud to be training and running right beside them.

Thanks to the grace of God, the love of my friends and family, and the skill of my doctors, I have been able to survive my fight with cancer. I have dedicated my life to helping other survivors to fight their own battles. As a trainer at the North Lexington Family YMCA, I see their courage and will every single day. Since I was a participant in Central Kentucky’s pilot program of LIVESTRONG at the YMCA back in 2011, I have worked with over 100 survivors. There are many more who will need our help in the coming years.

Please join me with a contribution so that tomorrow’s cancer fighters can know what so many of us have learned the hard way: Cancer can kill us, but it can never defeat us if we choose to Live Strong.

Peace,

Bob Johnson
859 420-9327

Please click this link to donate to Living Strong at the YMCA, or mail your tax deductible contribution to:

Robert Parks Johnson
Living Strong at the Y 2013
North Lexington Family YMCA
381 West Loudon Ave
Lexington KY 40508

#417: Training Begins

As of yesterday, I'm back up and running. I have plenty of time to train for my spring Marathon in May, and a good plan that includes plenty of racing between now and then. This weekend was the start, and I kicked it off with a run that was hard to finish, but much harder to start.

I went to bed Friday night looking forward to a run I had anticipated for a couple of weeks. Our running group, John's Striders was planning a 13.1 mile morning trip through the hilly and beautiful Run the Bluegrass Half Marathon course. I was excited to see everybody again, and to take on one of the most challenging and gorgeous courses I've ever run. When I woke up on Saturday, a wave of depression washed over me. Everything I saw, everything I tripped over in the dark, every whine and yip from the dogs cut into my heart and sucked the life out of me. I tried to get myself together. I lit the kettle for some herbal tea, but by the time the whistle started, I knew I wasn't going anywhere this morning. I fell to the couch, pulled a blanket of despair up to my ears, and sobbed myself back to an uneasy sleep.

Mrs P woke me long after the sun had come up. She bent to kiss me good morning and I burst into tears. She held me, whispering softly until I could talk about what I was feeling. Lovingly, she coaxed me back to sanity. This disease would have killed me long ago without her love and patience. Eventually, we had a cup of tea and some oatmeal. It turned out to be a pretty nice day with my sweetheart. God had another training plan in mind for me. I needed love to exercise my heart's strength before the road tested its resolve on Sunday.

Sunday morning, I was determined to make up the miles I had missed the morning before. I felt like I owed it to the friends who ran, and I owed it to myself, too. In a way, I guess I also owed it to Mrs P. She had worked too hard bringing me back from the brink for me to spend another day on the couch. At 10:00, I was off into the cold Lexington morning. 37° and steely gray skies that seemed just a few degrees from snowing. I started at a nice, comfortable clip, running without walk breaks, just taking in the air and watching the streets pass by. It was a peaceful morning. Most of my neighbors were either in church or in bed. I did the 4.6 miles to the Arboretum in good time, and made my way to the parking lot to meet C. We did 4 miles together, running 2:00/walking 1:00. Later, I would regret not starting walk breaks from the beginning. Our run was like most of our training together. Good friends talking about life and work, punctuated by long, comfortable silences as we patted and puffed up and down the rolling hills. I really enjoy running alone, but there are certain people whose company I love having during a workout. C is one of them.

The last part of my run was not nearly so carefree. After C and I said goodbye, I continued off on the long course I had plotted for myself that morning. The next mile or so was along very busy road with no sidewalks. Fortunately, the beautiful lawns of the stately homes run right up to the curb, so I helped myself to some manicured turf. The soft ground felt good under my feet, but it requires a little more attention. There are holes and sticks and muddy spots to avoid. I was much too far from home to turn an ankle. At mile 11, I went back to the walk break intervals that C and I had used. It wasn't long before I realized that I had waited much too late to start them. Soon, cramps started in my upper calves. I suspect that I was getting a little dehydrated, in spite of the cold and the small amount I was sweating. My hands started tingling. I wasn't sure if it was from the cold, or something worse, but I had no choice. I kept moving. My pace slowed from 13:30 to 14:30 in the course of a couple miles. By the time I got to mile 13, I was hurting pretty badly. I had trouble keeping straight, another warning sign of dehydration. I stopped using the interval timer, and started using light poles. Run to this one, walk to the next one, run to the one after that. I don't know what the timing was, but having a clear, visible limit to my intervals seemed to help. I "ran" the 14th mile in just under 17 minutes. I don't think I've hurt this much since the marathon in May. I jogged my way to the final intersection of my route, then walked about a quarter of a mile to the house for water, hot tea, bananas, and a good long stretch on the den floor while the dogs licked the salt off of me. It's not exactly a massage, but it's a relaxing way to finish a workout anyway.

This one gave me a real sense of achievement. I managed to beat down the devil who tried to keep me off the road, even if it did take a day to get it done. After my nap, I made about four quarts of juices to put up in the refrigerator to get the week started. The colors, sounds, smells, and textures that are part of this task really relax me. It was a good finish to a good weekend.

And so, while it may have been a rocky start, training has begun. It's good to be back.

Peace,
Pennsy

#416: Of Juice, Smoothies, and Life in the Food Chain.

Yes, I saw it. It seems like everyone has seen it. If you haven't, I recommend Fat, Sick & Nearly Dead for your holiday viewing. It is an inspiring story about a man who saved his own life, then set about helping others to save theirs. Mrs P and I were moved when we saw it, and it has stuck with us.

The means by which the film maker, Joe Cross, saved his life is juicing. Cross is a proponent of a whole foods, plant-based way of eating that uses juicing as a way of extracting nutrients from a large amount of vegetables without having to consume pounds and pounds of fiber in the process. My supper last night involved a mountain of produce that I could never have eaten whole in one sitting. Juicing is an approach to nutrition that makes a lot of sense, and we're giving it a try at our house as we wrap up the old year.

I have a couple of goals with the program. I want to clean out my system a little bit after a Christmas of guilt-free self indulgence. I gorged at Mum's table and pantry like there was no tomorrow. It was fun, but I know that I set myself back a little with all those candies and cookies. I also want to jump start my weight loss program. Coach Carrie and I will be working on getting me down to racing weight as I prepare for my Spring Marathon. I am confident that a juice based diet can help me get there.

So, what are we eating?

• Breakfast yesterday was Carrot, Apple, Ginger Juice: a very simple start to the day. It was sweet and zingy. 
• For lunch I had a Mean Green: a very intense beautifully dark green juice made with cucumber, celery, apples, kale, lemon, and ginger. This is a classic vegetable juice mix, and is a real energy booster. 
• Supper was a unique combination called Sunset Blend. It contained sweet potato, carrot, red bell pepper, beets, apples, and oranges. At first it tasted very earthy, as if I hadn't really cleaned the roots thoroughly, but soon, the rich flavors of the beets and sweet potatoes won me over. I had two helpings of this rosy beauty.

This morning, I fell off the juice wagon a little. I mixed up a smoothie with pineapple, banana, raspberry, yogurt, chia, and almond milk. I was hankering for fiber, and this fruity cocktail should do the trick.

So here I am at day two of my liquid fast. Yesterday, I was feeling very run-down and had a head ache, but I'm not sure that wasn't a combination of fatigue from our long drive home and my body battling whatever the bug was that the family was incubating while we visited. The day after we left, many of them took to their beds, and yesterday, Mrs P hunkered down with the cats, some Kleenex, and a pile of library books for a long weekend under the covers. I feel a lot better today, but don't think I'll run outdoors, just in case I'm fighting that bug myself.

I'm going to stay off the scale until New Years. My weight when I returned home was obscene, and I want to get a little juice boost before I start measuring. In the mean time, my energy is good, my belly feels fine, and I'm not showing any signs of changing colors. All in all, a successful experiment so far.

Peace,
Pennsy

#38: Newtown #2

Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool. Isaiah 1:18

Why drag the Bible into this? Because even though I identify myself as  Liberal Christian, the Bible is still the foundation for my ideas about right and wrong. I'm not very "churchey" any more, but my relationship with my Creator is as strong as ever. All of this is intended to make the point that I believe we were designed to be rational creatures.

It seems that our culture is in a struggle to suppress that rational part of our architecture. In religion, we do what Paul cautions against: we gulp the milk, but choke on the meat of the gospel. We embrace the comfort Jesus has to offer, but barely dabble in the ministry he calls us to do among our neighbors. In education, we belittle critical and creative thinking in favor of submissive obedience and the mechanical recitation of facts. Public schools are mandated to be institutions where workers are prepared, not incubators for informed, engaged citizens. Much of our art is created to excite, rather than to elevate. The press tends to craft stories to stimulate sentimentality or anxiety rather than to inform the people about how their business is being conducted. And in politics... oh, politics.... It has been suggested that in our post-modern world, the highest value is not truth or love or justice or freedom, but power. Politics and government are becoming a zero-sum game where the goal is not to find what is best for the nation, but to defeat one's opposition. Compromise is interpreted as cowardice. Diversity is corruption. Disagreement is malice or stupidity.

And in all these things, reason - the sapiens part of our species - is not only short-changed, but seems to be mouldering. It's a loss we can not afford.

The ability to express without attacking; to hear without defending: these are fading arts around the world. The corruption of Islam. The tyrannies of Africa. The criminal terrorism of Latin America. The slave states of Asia. The xenophobia of Europe. It is as if we are experiencing the retro evolution of our species. If reason was the tool that allowed humankind to succeed, then its disappearance will surely bring about our failure.

As we struggle to digest the horrors of Newtown, we are bound to disagree about causes and solutions. Our world teaches us that the reason for our disagreement is the ignorance or ill-intent of those who don't think like we do. Isn't it more likely that we disagree because neither of us is exactly right? That the truth lies somewhere out there, in a place that we can only find by reasoning together instead of battling? 

It will demand courage. It will demand forgiveness and humility. Most of all, it will demand love and respect for one another. We're going to have to swim against the tide and admit that winning really isn't the only thing. It's going to be hard. But I believe it is our only hope for survival as a species and as creatures made in the image of the God who calls us to live out our full nature.

Come, let us reason together.

#37: Newtown #1

"Pennsyltuckian" was my first blog. It was intended to be a place where I could dig deeply into matters of spirit and my long, often puzzling relationship with my Creator. Because I've devoted so much of my energy to matters of wellness, fitness, and just plain staying alive for the past few years, I haven't written here for a very long time This morning, I felt moved to open these dusty pages again.

How to begin? My friend Melissa spent many years as a public defender, protecting people from being steamrolled by a system they didn't have the resources to fight on their own. Some of them were probably innocent, wrong-place-wrong-time people who fell into the justice machine by mistake or malice. Others were almost certainly very bad people, guilty of much more than Melissa or her colleagues could even imagine as they stood between their clients and the state. As I stared into my computer screen yesterday, head shaking, eyes blank and misty, she said, "People always want to understand 'Why? Why did this happen? Why did they do it?’... But when something is this horrible, there is no ‘Why.’”

Grief is not an intellectual exercise. Not at first. At first, grief is pain. When someone cracks you in the ribs with a baseball bat, your first response isn’t to analyze the geometry of their swing. Your response is authentic and unrehearsed and from the gut. There is a kind of cowardice in dragging out tired old position papers about gun control and the 2^ndamendment just because you can’t or won’t allow yourself to feel what humans feel when they care about each other. And if you don’t care enough about these kids and parents and teachers and shooters and cops and neighbors to endure that pain for a few hours, then I don’t have any time for your ideas about public policy.

A paradox of humankind is that we are not only feeling creatures, we are also thinking ones. A decent respect for life requires us to grieve and acknowledge our loss, but then to consider how we are going to respond to that loss. I believe it is a sin to refuse to feel. I also recognize the spiritual danger of indulging feelings like hurt or loss or anger for their own sake. You have to demand more of yourself. You have to think. Then you have to act.

Think? It’s not as easy as it sounds. We’re used to letting others do a lot of our thinking for us. First parents and preachers and teachers; then friends and mentors and experts and, Lord help us, pundits: all eager to explain it all in bumper-sticker-sized chunks that allow us to pretend to organize the universe. We wave our Claxton flags and our ACLU cards and our Bibles and our Constitutions in the air like matador’s capes and never take the trouble to actually think about problems that we know in our hearts are far too complicated for the simple solutions that our culture wants us to accept. And this too is a kind of cowardice: refusing to wrestle with a question because we’re afraid there is no solution.

So this is an invitation to begin something new. Let us grieve together. Let us feel the pain of our neighbors who have lost so much, so fast. Let us honor them all as our sisters and brothers in the human family. And then, after a decent interval, let’s begin to think… not as the experts tell us to think, but as our own good sense and experience teach us about what action to take when there is no “Why.”

Peace,

Pennsy

#415: Intervals: Just Keep Going

There are a lot of different kinds of runs. One of my favorites is the Long Slow one. I usually schedule one a week, at least 8 miles: longer if I'm training for a race. This is pure endurance training, miles for their own sake. I always record my time and pace from these runs, but I rarely pay much attention to them while I'm on the road. More often than not, I'm enjoying the scenery or the company if there is any.

A Recovery Run is great after a hard workout or race. 2-4 distance. Easy jogging. Lots of walk breaks. I use it to keep the joints moving and get the blood flowing. A Recovery Run is a healing run.

Tempo Runs are more aggressive. They're all about speed. If you have a time goal for an upcoming event, you might try to hit your goal pace for part of a run or even the majority of your workout. Tempo Runs can take you a little beyond your threshold of comfort.

Then there are Intervals. Intervals take you way past the threshold. Yesterday's was an interval workout. I jogged about a mile to warm up, then set my timer to go off every thirty seconds. For the next three miles, I tried to hit progressively faster speeds, for half a minute, with walk breaks in between. By mile 4, I was running at 8 MPH: that's a pace of 7:30 per mile. That's about as fast as I can go no the treadmill which makes it about as fast as I can go.I was pleased that I could keep the intervals up for the entire last mile.I guess the next step is to start making the quick ones a few seconds longer. In any case, yesterday had more than it's share of frustrations, so I was glad for the chance to blow off some steam out on the trail.

The run got me thinking about "intervals" in general. You know, the way life can sometimes feel like you're either going full speed or not moving at all? I'm sure everybody has times like that. During a depressive "spell," it seems like that's all there is. You're either frozen, not daring (or wanting) to move, or else everything around you seems to be moving at light speed and you don't see any way in the world of keeping up.

One of the hard lessons a runner has to learn is "Run Your Own Race" If you have a competitive bone in your body, you always feel a little tug when another runner passes you. You don't want to get left behind by that kid or that old guy or that pregnant lady pushing a stroller. But the truth is that sometimes, runners are just faster than you are. You have to learn to let them go. I guess that's how I manage my dark times nowadays. I remind myself that I'm running injured. I can't go as hard as I'm used to going. There are some parts of life that I just have to let run on past me. That's tough. I may not be a champion, but I'm pretty driven to always give my best. It's tough to take when your "best" only feels like 45%.

I started on the new, higher dose of "nerve pills" yesterday. The chemistry takes time to adjust. Time. It's just one more of those things that you have to let go at their own pace and trust that you'll catch up eventually. In the meantime, the people who love you suffer right along with you. Harsh words are spoken, promises are broken, plans fall through. At its worst, the disease tries to convince you that the only solution is to stop running and get out of the race. I know that voice well. It spoke to me with screams around mile 16 of my marathon when my legs started cramping at every stride. All I could think, all I could say was, "Just keep moving." Every time my watch beeped for another walk break, I just wanted to put my hands on my knees, fall to the curb, lay down in the gutter and quit. But I knew people were counting on me. I was counting on myself. "Just keep going."

On the track, you can make it through the intervals by reminding yourself that they don't last forever. Your lungs burn and your legs ache, but you know that the sprint only lasts for a few more seconds. You know that the hard part doesn't last. You can make it. You just keep going.

And in the end, what's left is the strength. Your heart comes through stronger. You recover faster. You move a little quicker. That's why you run intervals on the track. And I guess, I do them in life for the same reason. I just have to trust that they'll be over eventually and I'll be stronger for having gotten through them.

Just gotta keep going.

Peace,
Pennsy